


your smoking gun's the tip of your tongue

by voxofthevoid



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Biting, Blood Drinking, Dubious Consent, Elements of Ravishment, Knotting, M/M, Masochism, Monsterfuckers Inc, Prayer Circle for Bucky's Asshole, Rimming, Rough Sex, Sex with Shifted Werewolf, Size Difference, Spit As Lube, Surprise Shifting, Twink Tank, Vampire Bucky Barnes, Werewolf Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:27:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24397282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voxofthevoid/pseuds/voxofthevoid
Summary: “Half a millennium of existence,” Bucky murmurs, half to himself even as his gaze never strays from the wolf before him, “andthisis what fate has in store for me.”Steve Rogers is kinder on the eyes than his predecessor, but all Bucky can look at is the gleaming star on his chest. It’s white, spread over nearly all of his right pectoral, the simple design standing raised on sun-kissed skin. Steve looks, acts, and smells like sun and forests, the polar opposite of Bucky.His star is red and on his left side, a mirror to Steve’s. There’s no denying it, their bond, but Bucky would gladly give a limb for that luxury. He's the master of his fate, not a few square centimeters of raised flesh."I’m not exactly jumping for joy either,” Steve speaks, finally. “I’m more used to killing your kind than fucking them.”“Wolf,” Bucky says quietly, “you’re not fucking anyone here.”-How to Cope When Your Soulmate Is Your Mortal Enemy: A Beginner’s Guide by James Buchanan Barnes.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 183
Kudos: 1312





	your smoking gun's the tip of your tongue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [possibleplatypus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/possibleplatypus/gifts).



> This is inspired by [this amazing gifset](https://lethal-desires.tumblr.com/post/189559281693/what-have-i-done-to-deserve-this-time-and) and dedicated to The Platypus Person because she is a very terrible enabler who gives me Ideas. ❤
> 
> The gorgeous banner and moodboard are kocuria’s magic! You can find her on [Ao3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kocuria) and [tumblr](https://kocuria.tumblr.com/). My tumblr’s [here](https://voxofthevoid.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Also, pay attention to the tags! This is basically one of those ravishment-type scenarios with soulmates and fantasy to spice it up.

* * *

* * *

“Half a millennium of existence,” Bucky murmurs, half to himself even as his gaze never strays from the wolf before him, “and _this_ is what fate has in store for me.”

Steve Rogers is kinder on the eyes than his predecessor, but all Bucky can look at is the gleaming star on his chest. It’s white, spread over nearly all of his right pectoral, the simple design standing raised on sun-kissed skin. Steve looks, acts, and smells like sun and forests, the polar opposite of Bucky.

His star is red and on his left side, a mirror to Steve’s. There’s no denying it, their bond, but Bucky would gladly give a limb for that luxury.

Steve spares him a sideways glance before resuming his earnest contemplation of the window. He would make a headier sight with sunlight spilling through the shades, but given that it’s nighttime and that the sun would burn Bucky in any case, that’s an image better left a fantasy. Or at least, it’s not for Bucky to see, not that he has any desire to.

He's the master of his fate, not a few square centimeters of raised flesh.

“I’m not exactly jumping for joy either,” Steve speaks, finally. They’re not the first words he’s spoken since they found themselves in this mess, but it feels like it after the long silence they’ve been drowning in. “I’m more used to killing your kind than fucking them.”

Bucky doesn’t bare his fangs because he’s too old for childish fits of temper. But he allows his eyes to flash red, a warning that goes summarily ignored.

“Wolf,” Bucky says quietly, “you’re not fucking anyone here.”

That, of all things, earns him direct eye contact. Animal.

It’s not surprise or even insult that twists Steve’s expression, but Bucky would take those over this infuriating smirk any day. That’s a challenge in those damned blue eyes, and Bucky’s far from unfamiliar with the confidence of a man used to getting his way, not when he sees it in the mirror every day, but it’s another thing to have it directed at him by a fucking werewolf.

Bucky’s worst-case scenario was always that his soulmate would be a human. He’s long ceased to understand that which he used to be, and the idea of one of them being his tailor-made partner was…unpleasant. Their lives were too short, their bodies too fragile—prey, not a partner.

Now, it feels like fate is mocking him. Werewolves are as immortal as any vampire, and their bodies are anything but fragile. _See_ , a mocking voice trills in his head. _You got your wish_.

Soul-bonded to his kind’s natural enemy. The possibility never even occurred to Bucky. It was far too ridiculous.

And now, he’s living a worst-case scenario he didn’t dare imagine.

“You’re pretty enough,” Steve says, the deep rumble of his voice starting Bucky out of his dark thoughts. “I’m not used to dead flesh, but well, I’ve always been open to new experiences.”

He’s _pretty enough_ , is he.

Bucky’s eyes don’t flash red this time. They stay red, pupils slitted and irises glowing, eerie as anything. Steve doesn’t so much as flinch, though there’s a look in his eyes that makes every one of Bucky’s instincts flare up.

Johann Schmidt was an arrogant brute, but he wasn’t lacking in power, easily stronger than even the usual alpha wolf.

And Steve Rogers killed him in single combat.

Bucky rises from his chair, keeping his limbs loose. It’s not a threat. But if Steve attacks, Bucky will give as good as he gets and then some.

The expression that flashes across Steve’s face is distinctly approving, and Bucky doesn’t quite know what to make of that. He doesn’t know this man. They’d only clasped hands, tentative and wary, when their chests flared with a piercing pain. The implications didn’t sink in until Steve tore off his flimsy t-shirt, exposing the glowing star on his chest to Bucky, his coven, and Steve’s own pack.

The glow is dimming as the bond settles, but Steve’s still shirtless, his frankly indecent body—all rippling muscle and _hair_ —left bare from waist up.

Bucky marches to open suitcase, very deliberately giving his back to Steve as he roots around for something appropriate. None of the button-ups will fit Steve’s mountain shoulders and barrel chest, and Bucky didn’t pack many t-shirts. He grabs the biggest one and resigns himself to the imminent view of it stretched obscenely across those shoulders before tossing it to Steve.

A single blonde eyebrow asks a silent question.

“Put it on,” Bucky orders. “We’re not having this conversation while you stand around like that.”

Steve looks down at the t-shirt, a corner of his mouth turning up at the plain black fabric. And then, with slow deliberation, he drops it to the ground. Bucky’s fangs ache as he grits his teeth.

“Strip.”

“Excuse me?”

“I want to see your mark.”

Bucky has a moment of indecision, a part of him saying that the request is fair since Bucky’s been ogling Steve’s mark since he ripped off his shirt, while the other counters convincingly that Steve _chose_ to take off his shirt and Bucky’s under no obligation to indulge him.

The moment costs him.

Steve’s across the room in a flash, looming over Bucky despite having only a scant two inches on him. Bucky can’t say the hands on him come as a shock, but the ease with which they rip his suit jacket and shirt off does.

“Get your hands off— _oh_.”

It’s a glancing touch, Steve’s knuckles brushing Bucky’s mark as he tears off his clothes, but it sends lighting jolting down his spine, the sensation unlike anything he’s ever felt. Before he can recover, there’s a palm on him, huge and hot and electric, branding Bucky through a simple touch.

Steve’s other arm snakes around his waist, pulling Bucky close, and it’s instinct, in this half-dazed state, to put his hands on Steve’s chest. The mark flares under his hand, and he can feel Steve’s reaction all along the length of him, the violent shudder and the quiet gasp. He pulls Bucky closer, and Bucky doesn’t resist, reeling from the heat spearing into his unbeating heart, but the mouth that crashes into his still catches him by surprise.

He gasps because Steve is _warm_ , lips soft and searing. A tongue takes advantage to slide inside, a quick, velvet touch that lingers, a phantom sensation even as Bucky regains a good quarter of his senses and tears his face away.

“What do you—”

Steve’s panting, and the sight of it stills Bucky’s lashing tongue. His cheeks are flushed, eyes dark, just from a touch, a kiss.

He crowds closer, and Bucky shuffles backward but doesn’t break free of the arms around him. He could. Steve’s strong, but so is he, and if it’s a fight, they’re evenly matched.

But the heat of him is heady, and the look in his eyes, hungry and wild, takes Bucky’s heart in its fist.

Steve leans in again, slower, his intention clear, and Bucky lets it happen even while a part at him howls at the insanity of this.

The first kiss was a crash, brief and devastating. This is an eruption, warmth building into an inferno, sending waves of fire through Bucky’s flesh, heating skin that only remembers borrowed warmth.

Steve’s all teeth and tongue, and there’s nothing sweet about this, like in all the honeyed tales of soulmates meeting. His mouth moves over Bucky’s like it wants to swallow him whole, and Bucky gives back as good as he gets, tongue curling around Steve’s, nails digging into the firm flesh of his shoulders. 

He's nearly carried to bed, Steve pushing forth with his considerable bulk, Bucky’s slighter frame stumbling backward with every step. He’s distracted by the kiss, limbs heavy and clumsy, and that doesn’t make it any harder for Steve to put Bucky where he wants him, prone and panting on the bed. Steve crawls in too, sliding his body up Bucky’s, and the weight of him makes Bucky’s head spin.

It’s embarrassing, how quickly he’s been undone. Natasha can never know; she'd laugh at him for weeks.

Bucky decides right then that she’ll hear nothing of this, and then that wet, hot mouth is on his again, forcing his lips wide with a growl, and thoughts turn distant and hazy. There’s a palm on his soulmark and it _throbs_ , pounding as if to compensate for the heart that no longer beats. Bucky returns the gesture, breaking the kiss to watch his hand cover Steve’s white star. It gleams in the spaces between his fingers, the skin raised and thick like an old scar.

Some of the less kind myths about soulmarks say it’s your other half carved from your soul, a violent severance that left a mark that will never fade. Bucky has never not felt whole, not when he was human and even not after, when his mind and body changed into something unrecognizable, but feeling Steve’s heart beat under his touch—there’s something to that.

He digs his nails into Steve’s mark and feels him shudder, that big, warm body convulsing over Bucky’s.

His hand is seized and pinned to the side. Bucky flexes automatically, surprised when that absent bit of strength isn’t enough to break free of Steve’s grip. He’d try harder but teeth sink into his _throat_ , and the shock of it freezes his muscles. There’s a single second of pure stillness before the sensation hits.

Bucky arches off the bed, mouth open on a shuddering cry. Steve raises his head, blood staining his lips, and he licks it off, eyes glowing an eerie blue. Bucky slaps a hand to his neck, wetness smearing on his fingers even as the flesh knits itself back together. He doesn’t think, just surges up, mouth crashing into Steve’s. His cold blood doesn’t taste as good as a living thing’s, its heat and vitality sucked out to fuel his body, but there’s something maddeningly good about tasting himself in Steve’s mouth, and fuck, _fuck_ , this is why monsters mate with monsters.

Steve’s the one to break the kiss, teeth latching onto Bucky’s jaw, a sweet sting that shudders into heat. His tongue licks down the curve of his throat, sucking wet and hot where Bucky’s pulse doesn’t beat. Bucky finds himself arching his throat for it, needy in ways that make something not wholly pleasant curl tight in his gut. He winds his fingers into Steve’s hair, grasping at some semblance of control. He’s distracted by how soft the strands are, and how thick, his fingers sinking deep. It’s good to grip, to cling to, and when teeth close none too gently around his nipples, Bucky can’t do much more than hold on tight and whimper through clenched teeth.

Steve lingers there, and for a man who said he’s not used to bedding cold flesh, he sure as fuck doesn’t seem bothered by Bucky’s body. He teases both nipples to hard buds, teeth and tongue and fingers alternating until Bucky’s not sure what’s what, arching into warm suction one moment and squirming at the sting of nails the next.

It's relief and loss that wars in him when Steve stops tormenting his chest and moves further down. He can’t quite make himself believe that he’s letting this happen out of shock, not anymore, not when he’s spreading his legs to make room for Steve’s bulk and lifting his hips to let his slacks be taken off with less violence than what the rest of his clothes suffered. His cock’s half-hard already, curved against a thigh. Steve’s eyes darken further at the sight and he licks his lips, looking up to meet Bucky’s stare with a grin that has too much teeth.

Bucky bares his teeth right back, fangs digging into his lower lip.

For some unholy reason, that makes Steve’s grin widen. He’s slow, slower than usual, when he lowers his head, pressing his face to Bucky’s belly with maddening deliberation. His beard catches not unpleasantly on the skin when he rubs his face there, an action so odd that Bucky doesn’t know whether the flash of heat in his gut is arousal or alarm.

It strikes him an instant later.

“Wolf,” he hisses, yanking at Steve’s hair, nothing gentle about it.

Steve growls but lets Bucky pulls his face away, peering up at him with dark, narrowed eyes.

“Quit it,” Bucky says. “I’m not your property.”

The asshole rolls his eyes.

“Ain’t pissing on you, am I, _James_?”

“Try and die.”

Steve laughs. It’s a wild sound, loud and unfettered. The lines of his throat and clavicle stand out starkly, and Bucky’s teeth ache. He forces his fangs back, running his tongue soothingly over his gums.

“Don’t worry,” Steve says, voice a little short, eyes bright as if smiling, “I have other plans for you.”

There’s something about that confidence that’s as compelling as it’s infuriating. Bucky fights a little, writhing under Steve, trying as if to get away, and Steve rears back, eyes wide, before they narrow and he surges forth with intent.

It’s not much of a struggle. All it takes is a fleeting touch on his mark for Bucky to lose, shuddering as it throbs with heat. Steve pushes him down by the throat and steals a kiss as if in victory. It’s animalistic, more teeth than tongue, and this time, Steve bites a path down Bucky’s torso, sucking stinging marks that won’t last long but throb like a pulse as they flare and fade.

He licks a filthy stripe along the jut of a hipbone but ignores the length of Bucky’s erection, instead burying his face against the soft inside of a thigh. He does that thing again, rubbing his face against the sensitive skin, the bristles of his beard scraping the skin. Bucky squirms, but there’s nowhere for him to go, legs kept spread by Steve’s broad shoulders. He doesn’t want to escape, not really, not when the strange bite of that beard on his skin is sending pinpricks of heat to his cock.

He does tug at Steve’s hair again, half because he can and half to get him to crawl up and put that overeager mouth on Bucky’s dick. But Steve’s an obstinate bastard, sinking his teeth into Bucky’s flesh hard enough that forceful attempts to make him move sends pain piercing deep through his thigh. Joke’s on him because the pain’s pleasure, Bucky’s cock swelling fully as the mix of sensations rush through his blood.

Steve notices it, smirking around his mouthful. Bucky smacks his shoulder, and it’s not gentle but Steve’s answering growl is almost playful. He laves his tongue over the burning bruise he’s left, only to take his teeth to a patch of skin above it.

Bucky slumps back on the bed because the sight of Steve with his head between his legs threatens to unravel him entirely and his dignity can’t take the blow if he loses himself so thoroughly just from this. The slick slide of a tongue along the underside of his cock doesn’t catch him by surprise and doesn’t loosen the muscles tensed in anticipation for it. He grips Steve’s hair harder, and it must hurt, but Steve’s only reaction is his mouth closing around the head of him, so hot it hurts.

Steve pulls away almost the same instant, and Bucky just barely swallows a protesting whine.

“You’re warm here,” Steve says, and Bucky looks down, gut clenching to find Steve prone between his legs, head hovering over his throbbing cock.

“What?”

Steve’s smile is slow and smug, and Bucky wants to rip it off his face and also push him down by the hair, back on to his aching length. He almost does, but even the slightest pressure earns him narrowed eyes and a warning growl. It’s not fear that stops Bucky but a dizzying rush of want that makes his limbs weak.

“Come on,” he mutters, “put your mouth to good use instead of yapping at me.”

It hurts, Steve’s teeth sinking without warning into the tender flesh of his inner thigh. Bucky yells, arching up, hips kept in place by strong hands. There’s wetness there too, and Steve laps up the blood, sucking at the wound until it starts to close, acting more like a vampire than Bucky.

“Wolf—”

Steve swallows his cock before Bucky can finish a thought.

His mouth’s hot, scorching, and he takes Bucky _deep_ , barely gagging. There’s a fleeting thought about experience and fucking expertise before Bucky’s brain melts, dribbling out through his dick.

And then Steve pulls off, the heat of his mouth vanishing without warning, and this time, Bucky can’t hold back a pleading whimper. Steve makes a hushing sound, oddly soft, and then his hands are sliding from Bucky’s hips to his thighs, curling under them. His grip is tight and grounding, the only thing in the world that feels solid as Bucky’s bent in half and spread wide and mouthed at, Steve’s beard rubbing his skin—all in a few, dizzying seconds.

Steve’s beard rubs against the insides of his cheeks, a distinctly odd sensation, not unpleasant but strangely distracting. The sudden flick of something wet and soft over his hole brutally wrenches Bucky’s towards the blood-hot reality of what Steve is doing down there.

“Wolf,” Bucky gasps, failing to sound even vaguely composed. “What are you _doing_?”

Steve pushes his face more firmly into Bucky’s ass, as if showing precisely what he’s doing, and god in heaven, Bucky knows, he knows, but a part of him can’t quite reconcile the mouth on his hole with the man he met merely an hour ago.

Steve licks at him again, the flat of his tongue swiping wet and filthy over the rim, slicking it up. Bucky hears the sound before he realizes he’s the one who moaned, a soft little thing that’s far shyer than the man shoving his tongue into Bucky’s asshole.

“ _Steve_.”

A growl answers, shuddering up Bucky’s flesh; lips and tongue follow, eating Bucky out with an enthusiasm that borders on frenzy. He whines, high and shattered, and he doesn’t know when he slid his arms around his bent legs, when he started moving, grinding against Steve’s face, his mouth, and he doesn’t know if he likes the way his body’s being reduced into a quivering thing of helpless pleasure, but god, he doesn’t want it to stop.

Steve’s heat seeps into his skin, slow and devastating. Bucky can’t think.

It lasts forever and barely more than seconds, and when Steve rises on to his knees, Bucky’s hard and aching and shaking for it. Steve sees it, clearly likes it, looking down at Bucky with an expression that’s both proud and hungry.

Steve strips, shucking his pants with little ceremony. There’s no underwear, and Bucky’s hardly shocked, but he manages, somehow, to find his tongue in time to snark about it.

“Are you allergic to clothes, wolf?”

“Back to wolf now?” Steve asks, shifting to loom above Bucky’s prone form. “Call me Steve again. I like my name on that pretty mouth.”

“Fuck you.”

Steve laughs, a little startled. He looks absurdly fond, but there’s nothing gentle about the hand that takes Bucky by the chin and forces him into a sharp, uncomfortable arch.

“Ask real nice and I will.”

Bucky doesn’t ask real nice. He bares his fangs and grabs Steve, flipping them in a blurred rush of skin and movement. Steve grunts when he’s slammed back-first into bed. The noise rises into a growl when Bucky curls a hand around his throat.

He bares his fangs, smiling around too much teeth.

“No,” he says. “I don’t think I will.”

It’s funny, the surprise on Steve’s face, as if he really expected Bucky to lie there and take it like a good bitch when they’re enemies and peace talks or not, Steve’s heading a pack that’s killed more of Bucky’s coven than he can count.

The surprise shifts into careful neutrality. Muscles tense under Bucky. He’s prepared for the attempt to throw him off and holds fast, even as he has to fight down a shudder the strength of the body under him. Steve’s hard all over, a body as rough as his manners and as wild as his eyes, and it’s not just the star on Bucky’s chest that makes his gut tighten. He shifts carefully, hyperaware of his hard, exposed dick.

Steve tilts his head to the side, a smile flirting with the corner of his mouth.

“That how you want it?”

Bucky says nothing, just presses his hand firmer against Steve’s throat, breathing in sympathy when his Adam’s apple bobs against his palm. He doesn’t quite understand the question and damn if he knows what he wants—what he should want.

There’s a moment where they just stare at each other. The world seems to go quiet. Bucky’s read of eyes you can drown in, but Steve’s aren’t like that. They’re fire, the kind that eat you alive and spit you out charred to the bone.

Marked forever.

Steve bursts into violent motion.

It’s not a long fight. It’s not a fight at all, not the kind Bucky is used to when his enemy is a werewolf. He feels like a boy wrestling, skin sliding along skin, hands grabbing yielding flesh and soft hair, being touched and grabbed and held in turn. They touch each other’s marks, more accidental than not, and every errant brush tears out helpless gasps and electric jolts.

It ends with him face-down on the bed, Steve plastered to his back and panting into his neck. Bucky can’t breathe with his face pressed to a pillow. He doesn’t need to, but Steve’s body heaving for breath over his makes him want to. He can feel the erection digging into his back, but what feels truly filthy, _heady_ , is the sweat being smeared on his skin from Steve’s breathtakingly alive body.

Steve licks a wet stripe down his nape and along his shoulder, teeth scraping along the flesh, teasing, taunting. His hips press down, cock sliding against Bucky, a poor imitation of what Steve clearly wants to do to him.

Bucky spreads his legs, forcing his body to release some of its tension.

Steve makes a quiet, approving noise. His weight disappears from Bucky’s back. He waits, expectant, for Steve to touch him again, but neither hands nor lips falls on him and no words break the thick silence.

Bucky turns around, lying on his back instead of rising into a seated position. Steve’s quick to settle between his legs, big hands nearly swallowing Bucky’s thighs as he parts them wide. Steve’s smiling, his hands reverent on Bucky even as they grope at his legs, and something about it all makes Bucky want to smile too.

“What?” he asks instead.

“You have fire. I like it,” Steve says easily, as if he was waiting for Bucky to ask. Then, his countenance softens further. “I don’t know why I’m surprised. You were made for me, weren’t you? As I was for you.”

Oh, sweet Jesus, this one’s a romantic.

Bucky opens his mouth for a scathing reply, but Steve’s looking at him with stars in his eyes while his fingers leave absent bruises on Bucky’s skin as they creep up the insides of his thighs, and Bucky finds that he doesn’t know what to say.

If this is how fate works, then it’s got a bitter sense of humor.

“Just fuck me,” Bucky says in the end, not nearly as sharp as he means it to be.

Steve does just that, not even telling Bucky to ask nicely. He slides two fingers into his own mouth, and Bucky squirms as he sucks on them, wetting them up, the sounds and sight both piercingly obscene. They prod at his hole, blindly dragging spit along the crease of his thighs and the rim before they push inside, both at once. It’s a tight fit, a rough stretch, and when Bucky arches up with a shout, Steve watches him with dark, pleased eyes.

His fingers move, sliding deep, knuckles pressing into the rim, stretching, seeking, and the friction’s a rough, scraping thing, forcing Bucky to feel every little movement. He curses when Steve spits on his fingers and pushes them in again, and he shouts when a third one joins, but by the time Steve’s got him clawing the sheets around four, Bucky has forgotten to drag in enough air to scream.

Steve’s got big hands, big fingers, and when he shifts to better carve his way into Bucky, he finds that it holds true for the whole of him.

It splits him open. Hurts. Steve’s big, enough that Bucky writhes from the stretch even after four fingers, and he’s strong, bracing his arms on either side of Bucky and holding him down with his body as he works his cock in deep. The sheets rip under Bucky’s fingers, and then it’s Steve’s skin, yielding like wet silk to Bucky’s tearing nails.

The scent of blood is sharp and maddening, but even that doesn’t distract Bucky from the cock rearranging his insides.

“You’re so _small_ ,” Steve rasps, the sound of his voice a cold shock. He sounds nothing like himself, voice gone deep and guttural in a way no human can manage. It’s wrong, that sound, and every natural instinct Bucky possesses flares in alarm, but fuck, what’ll he do, where’ll he go, lying under a wolf, split on his cock.

And then it registers, what Steve said.

He’s not wrong. Bucky doesn’t carry his power in his body, which is the slight, lithe frame of an underfed twenty-year-old. Steve’s the opposite, his beauty a savage thing, all bulging muscles and thick hair, two shades darker than his golden mane.

The dubious gift of an active imagination lets Bucky picture, all too vividly, how the two of them must look.

He shudders, violent and full-bodied, and he doesn’t mean to, but he clenches tight around Steve and digs sharp nails into the small of his back, drawing blood and a tight, gutted groan.

He gets fucked stupid for his trouble, Steve’s hips snapping forward, rough and violent, the careful control he could feel trembling in Steve’s muscles vanishing into shuddering savagery. It’s _a lot_ ; Bucky’s not unused to yielding to the press of another body, but Steve’s too much—too big, too hot, too fast. There’s no mercy in him, just brutal want, and Bucky screams even as he moves with Steve, writhing and arching his back, pushing into the cock that’s drilling into him. He claws at Steve, grabbing his hair, his broad shoulders, the hard swell of his chest, but the violence just spurs him on. His face is twisted into an expression that’s almost agonized, and Bucky’s no fucking different.

He doesn’t know why he does it, but Steve’s right there, lips parted and wet, so he leans in and presses their mouths together into a hard, sloppy kiss.

Steve’s rhythm stutters, cock sliding deep and stilling. There’s an endless moment where Bucky can’t feel anything but fullness inside of him—he’s stretched to the limit and kept like that, and it’s one thing to have Steve fucking in and out, another to just be stuffed full of him. It’s a sore, searing feeling, pain and pleasure blending into pure sensation.

Bucky doesn’t kiss Steve so much as tremble against his lips, mouth open as he tries not to unravel at the seams.

Steve starts moving again, tongue swiping over Bucky’s lips, wet and dirty. He sucks on it instinctively and doesn’t even realize his fangs were bared until centuries of habit has them retracting at the touch of another mouth on his. Steve makes a noise Bucky can’t interpret and kisses him harder, deeper, and it’s sloppy, both of them lost in the rough rhythm of their bodies, but Bucky likes it, the taste and heat of him, likes that he’s burning.

And he likes it after too, when Steve drags his mouth down Bucky’s throat and sinks his teeth into the meat of his shoulder. The pain pierces deep, but Steve’s cock screwing in tight is what makes Bucky scream, breathless and desperate. His own cock’s throbbing in need, untouched, rubbing against Steve’s stomach as he moves over Bucky.

“Touch me,” Bucky grits out, fisting a hand in Steve’s hair. A slight tug just makes teeth tear into Bucky’s own flesh, and it’s perverse how it sends heat down his spine and has him tightening convulsively around Steve’s cock.

Steve slides his hand between their bodies, the muscles of his back bunching and tensing as he shifts his weight to one arm. He wraps a hand around Bucky’s cock, and it’s never not a shock, his scorching touch, and Bucky fucks up helplessly, cock sliding drily into Steve’s warm fist. The angle shifts; Steve slips out and slips right back in, the engorged cockhead prodding at Bucky’s sore rim before pushing inside, and it’s easy, now, Bucky pried wide open, gaping loose even with a body that heals all hurts. Steve’s palm rubs over the head of Bucky’s dick, the skin there rough in that pleasantly dry way, and it’s heaven and hell on Bucky’s aching cock, even the lightest touch hot and electric.

Steve keeps fucking, sucking bloody bruises into Bucky’s neck and shoulder, and it’s too much, the sting and the pressure and the slick slide, Steve’s thick cock pressing into nerves that make lightning burst under his lids and his hand tight and wet around Bucky’s cock, it’s all so—

He comes clenching around Steve, teeth gritted around a quiet, keening cry. The pleasure’s white-hot and ragged, tearing through Bucky, a handful of seconds that last a lifetime.

Steve makes a surprised noise when Bucky’s cock softens in his palm, but it takes Bucky a few more seconds to understand why.

“Dead flesh,” he murmurs, throwing Steve’s own words back at him. “Nothing in this body but cold blood.”

Steve doesn’t stop moving, but he slows, eyes intent on Bucky’s. There’s barely any blue left, their bright fire eaten by pools of molten black. It’s a striking sight, spearing straight through Bucky.

“What?” he grits out.

Steve answers with a hard, claiming thrust. If Bucky were human, he’d be panting for air. As it is, every thrust jolts him, Steve’s cock sliding along his oversensitive prostate, sending sharp sensation tearing up his body. Steve only speeds up, fucking into Bucky’s spent flesh until even the aftershocks of pleasure fade into hard, ruthless pressure. Bucky doesn’t make a sound, swallowing every errant whine and whimper, and his throat aches with the need to throw his head back and scream.

There’s a hand in his hair and a mouth on his, and it’s clumsy, Steve’s focus more on Bucky’s ass than his lips, but Bucky’s gut warms anyway, knotting up at the slick, sloppy slide of their tongues and the gentle ache of Steve’s fingers tangled in his hair. He bites his lip when Steve breaks the kiss, but he doesn’t go far, speaking with his breath hot on Bucky’s mouth.

“Bite me.”

Bucky hears it loud and clear. He just doesn’t believe it.

“Excuse me?”

Steve smiles, pressing the curve of it to Bucky’s jaw before he pulls back. He’s still moving, still fucking, and it’s deep but lazy, each drag of his cock taking a small eternity. It takes everything Bucky has to focus on Steve’s face, his words, and if not for the shock of being told to _bite_ , he wouldn’t fucking bother, would just lie there and get fucked.

“Bite,” Steve repeats, still grinning, almost offensively unbothered. “I’ll warm your flesh.”

Bucky shivers.

There’s—the way he says it, it’s—

Bucky forces down the sudden surge of _something_ and says, mouth twisting into a sneer, “I wouldn’t sully myself.”

Steve’s stunned for a second, body stilling. And then, he throws his head back and laughs, and the sound doesn’t even taper off before he slams into Bucky with newfound violence, lifting his hips until his weight is resting on his shoulders and every thrust is a white-hot burn and there’s sparks under the lids Bucky doesn’t recall closing and fire up his spine and a telltale ache in his dick as it starts to swell again, forced to hardness by Steve’s sudden frenzy, and Bucky still doesn’t cry out, the air punched out of his lungs, his throat closed up, and—

—and it stops, as suddenly as it started. Bucky’s hips twinge with fresh bruises and his ass is a throbbing ache.

“Think you’re sullied already,” Steve says, heaving for breath, the obscene expanse of his chest glistening with sweat. “Just fucking bite. Think I can’t see how you need it?”

Bucky curses him, the words stunned and slurred.

Steve pulls back, all the way out, popping free of Bucky with a wet sound. The heat of him rubs against his gaping hole, just an insistent pressure. Bucky tries to bear down and take it, but it’s like Steve sees it coming, moving with Bucky, teasing him with the slippery head of his cock. It’s maddening, the back-and-forth of it along his rim, down his taint, and a glancing slide of it along his balls is all it takes to make Bucky whine through pursed lips. He feels desperate, is desperate, the emptiness in him gnawing at his limits.

Some of it must show on his face. Steve grins, lips peeling back from his teeth, the expression more wolf than human. Bucky has seen it before, in wolves about shed their human skin and leap for his throat, and it makes no sense that the sight of it on the man above him, pinning him down, is so damnably arousing.

Steve doesn’t give him much time to think about it, pushing in good and slow, forcing Bucky to ache around each searing inch of his monster cock. His nails tear through the sheets and sink deep into the foam mattress. There’s the passing thought that he’ll have to pay the hotel for damages, but then Steve does— _something_ with his hips and bottoms out at an angle that makes stars burst under his lids.

He's kissed before he can gather himself, Steve licking into his slack mouth and pulling back before Bucky can kiss back. Teeth sink into his lip, a brief, piercing sting, and Bucky tries to chase that mouth, but Steve doesn’t let him, pulling away and grinding his hips, fucking Bucky with rapid rabbit-thrusts that make the world blur to nothing.

There’s movement, sudden and disorienting—an arm sliding under his back and another around his shoulders.

Bucky feels like a slip of nothing, suddenly seated in Steve’s lap, spread over his thigh and impaled on his cock. The angle’s torture, Steve so deep that Bucky can feel the ache of him in his _throat_.

Fingers slide into his hair, gentle for a moment before they grip tight. Bucky’s face is shoved into Steve’s neck, his intention clear.

He doesn’t give in that easy, but he can feel Steve’s heat, hear the pounding of his heart, and a helpless flick of his tongue floods him with the taste of Steve’s warm skin, the salt of his sweat hiding the promise of what pulses underneath. Bucky’s teeth ache and his stomach clenches, his whole body burning blood-hot. He buries his face there because he can’t bear to pull away, but he keeps his fangs tucked away. Natasha says that age has only made him more of a stubborn mule, and god, she can never, ever know.

Then, Steve starts moving, and Bucky starts fighting a losing battle.

It’s—it’s so easy, those huge hands damn near enveloping Bucky’s hips, moving him on Steve’s cock with little effort. His own dick’s caught between their bodies, the smooth slide of skin coaxing it back to full hardness. It’s dizzying, being held like this, breathing in the scent of Steve while he’s split on his cock, and Bucky doesn’t think, just opens his mouth and bites.

Someone shouts, and Bucky think it’s him, but it can’t be, not when his mouth is busy on Steve’s throat, sucking hungrily at the gushing blood. It doesn’t taste human, is different, the taste darker in a way that defies words, and Bucky’s never had a taste for lycan but now, he finds that he can’t stop drinking, writhing in Steve’s lap and clenching around this thick cock as he tries to squirm closer, drink deeper.

It's clumsy, though Bucky’s never clumsy, but he can’t be neat and nice when Steve’s still bouncing him on his cock, fucking Bucky with a violence that’s echoed in the bruising grip of his fingers and the guttural growl spilling from his mouth. Blood spills out the corner of his lips, trickling down his chin and along Steve’s throat. Bucky fastens a hand in Steve’s hair, gripping the short strands for dear life as he struggles to keep his lips wrapped tight around the puncture wounds.

“James, _James_ ,” Steve gasps; it’s the most wrecked he’s sounded. Satisfaction surges, sweet and hot, and Bucky clamps down tight around Steve and sucks hard at his throat, groaning when it has the desired effect of obliterating what’s left of Steve’s control.

He buries himself balls-deep inside Bucky with a single, violent thrust and starts grinding, hands making Bucky’s hips move in tight, dirty circles. Bucky buries his moans in Steve’s throat and let the slowing rush of his blood ground him in his flesh, but then Steve’s motions gain a telltale urgency that gets him clenching around him again, half because he can’t help it and half because he wants to feel Steve lose it.

There’s a low, warning growl. Nails sharper than they were a second ago sink into the thin flesh at Bucky’s hips, piercing skin. The pain fades under the heat inside of him, the sudden, searing flood of it a shock that gets Bucky gasping around his mouthful of bloodied flesh.

Steve’s quiet as he comes, but his whole body’s tight and trembling, and god, there’s a lot of it, filling Bucky up and slipping out the sides. His cock throbs, and Bucky bites down harder on the wounds he made, trying to find composure in Steve’s taste. The marks are already healing even with Bucky’s saliva keeping the blood flowing, but before Bucky can sink his teeth in a second time, fingers twist into his hair and yank his head back, exquisitely rough.

He blinks up the ceiling, panting for air he doesn’t even need. He licks his lips, sloppily lapping up the blood that spilled, but the mess on his face is nothing compared to the mess in his ass, and when he tries to rise, he realizes that Steve’s still rock hard inside of him.

“Steve,” Bucky gasps, a little scandalized, struggling to meet his eyes despite the way his head is pulled back.

“James,” Steve returns, playing at calm but not quite making it, voice rich with the remnants of a growl.

“Bucky,” he offers, and the timing’s hardly the best, but the blood on his lips and the come in his ass are partly what’s prompting this little confession. “My name’s Bucky.”

Steve sucks in a sharp breath.

“Bucky,” he says evenly, lips close to Bucky’s throat, brushing the skin there, and it’s a wonder that Bucky’s still so cold that Steve’s warmth is searing. He’s burning inside and feels like it should show on his skin, but it clings to the corpse-chill with alarming tenacity.

Steve pours him into bed, cock slipping out of Bucky, a slick slide made easy by the come drenching his ass. Steve kisses him, hard and sloppy, tongue fucking into Bucky’s mouth like a pale imitation of what they’ve been doing.

“Can you take more?” Steve asks, still half-kissing Bucky, and there’s something about his tone that’s demand and plea both. He’s covered in sweat and blood and panting with his whole body but doesn’t seem tired, raring to go from the bright light in his eyes to the hard curve of his cock.

“The fuck do you think I am?” Bucky asks, nipping at Steve’s lip, hard enough to taste blood. “You couldn’t break me if you tried, wolf.”

Steve lets out a ragged breath.

“Yeah? Maybe I’ll try anyway.”

He drops his head, nuzzling into the red star on Bucky’s chest. It jolts through him, a pleasant, piercing throb, a sensation that defies words. Steve’s beard rubs over the star, and Bucky finds that he can’t keep looking at the sight of that face pressed to his chest, his soul-mark, not without his heart constricting painfully.

He closes his eyes, head thrown back, and is caught off guard when Steve sits up and flips him over.

Steve pulls his hips up, and Bucky has just enough time to get his hands under him before he’s filled in one, smooth thrust that threatens to send him toppling down again.

“Fuck,” he groans, fisting his hands in the sheet.

Steve licks a stripe up his back and bites into Bucky’s shoulder and slams in deep, and something’s different, Bucky doesn’t know what, but he can feel it, live and crackling in the air. He throws an arm behind him, snaking it around Steve’s neck, the angle awkward and loose. Steve rumbles and presses his body more firmly down on Bucky’s, putting his considerable weight on him as his thrusts pick up speed.

And he was right, before, to say Bucky’s small. He feels it, more than ever, enveloped in Steve’s warm bulk. He likes it, doesn’t quite know what to make of that, but his frame doesn’t lessen his strength, and it’s easy to hold them both up, even as more and more of Steve’s weight comes to rest on him. Bucky can tell he’s close already, control fraying at the edges, unraveling each time he drives his cock deep into Bucky’s wet, loose flesh.

It's good, the strength and the speed—how it steals words out of Bucky’s throat and leaves a trembling in his bones.

Steve comes again, sudden and with nothing but a grunt, hips pumping as he fucks his mess deep and deeper into Bucky. It leaves him soaked, _dripping_ , come trickling down his taint and balls, along the tingling skin of his inner thighs. It’s a reminder, filthy and unbearably hot, of how unused Bucky is to a lover that leaves a mess on him.

Steve’s still hard.

“What the fuck?” Bucky mumbles, straining to look at Steve over his shoulder and getting his face shoved into a pillow for his trouble.

Bucky’s arms give out, and he’s pinned to the bed then, torso flat on the mattress, Steve’s chest flush to his back. The angle makes Steve’s dick slide out a little, but he fucks back in, carving open a home for himself inside of Bucky.

He shudders, violent and full-bodied, and Steve starts rolling his hips, fucking Bucky with a strange, lazy urgency—all ceaseless movement and slow, deep breaths. He’s raw inside; his body’s resilient, but Steve’s strong and fucks like a goddamn machine, and Bucky’s reeling, half-grateful for how he’s been pushed down flat, left to just lie there and take it.

His cock’s aching now, and he remembers, vaguely, how it felt it be so worked up that he’d be dripping, making a mess without even coming, and there’s none of that now, just a hot pulse inside dry flesh, but it’s no less demanding, no less maddening.

He works a hand between his body and the bed, trying to lift his hips to grab his cock, but his fingers barely brush the head before his hand is grabbed and pulled out from under him, pinned awkwardly to the bed by a strong, bruising grip.

“No,” Steve says. “Like this.”

He punctuates his point with a hard, grinding thrust that makes sheer _want_ dig its teeth into Bucky’s gut. He clamps down hard around Steve, keening into the sheets when another follows, then another, all brute, overwhelming force.

Bucky doesn’t register the sound at first, caught up in the ringing in his ears and the thrum of his blood as he’s fucked through the mattress, but Steve’s mouth is by his ear, his chest is pressed to Bucky’s back, and blissful ignorance doesn’t last.

It’s not a growl, more of a throaty rumble, the sound distinctly inhuman but nothing like anything he’s heard a wolf make. Bucky struggles to focus on something other than the fever-hot drag of Steve’s cock inside him and manages, somehow, to feel the shuddering of his skin and the broken edge to the sounds Steve’s making. He notices the desperation in his movements, the way Steve’s teeth sink into his shoulder and how his nails scrape Bucky’s skin with a strange, frantic energy, a little like he’s trying to ground himself in Bucky’s flesh.

Then his cock starts changing.

“Oh god,” Steve rasps, voice wrecked, the uncontrolled frenzy of his body reflected in his voice for the first time. “ _Bucky_ , I—”

It’s a warning. 

Bucky has just enough time to understand it as such before Steve pulls all the way out and rams back in, and it’s unmistakable, the bulge at the base of his cock, so wide that it barely fits, and Bucky knows how dogs fuck, how _wolves_ fuck, but he never thought—

Steve howls. Fur breaks out over the arms braced on either side of Bucky.

Bucky gapes, the knot caught on his hole forgotten as he watches nails lengthen into claws and human musculature twist and morph into furred flesh that’s neither human nor lupine. It’s just the arms, and Bucky raises his neck to watch them both at the same time, as if that will make this reality seem more solid.

The weight on him increases, pressing him back down on the mattress, and it’s not sweat-slick skin against his back, not anymore.

Fur and muscle, a body hotter than Steve’s human form—and he’s still inside Bucky, cock swollen at the base, a hard, searing knot that doesn’t _fit_. Steve’s trying, fucking Bucky with frenzied thrusts, grinding his knot against his hole, and god, it’s _huge_ , like nothing Bucky’s taken or touched, nothing like a toy or the tearing girth of Steve’s own cock, and that’s different too, he realizes with a start, Steve’s dick slotting into place inside of him in a different way, pressing into different places, hotter, wetter, fucking bigger.

He understands the warning, but it’s too fucking late and the head that rests on the crook of his neck isn’t human, and the wet, cold nose that prods at Bucky’s cheek is set on a snout.

“Steve,” he calls, dazed. “S-Steve?”

A soft, rumbling sound answers him. There’s nothing soft about Steve’s movements; his knot’s pushing at Bucky’s hole, he’s spread obscenely wide and stuffed to the brim, and there’s no space, he can’t take anymore, he physically can’t, but Steve’s rutting into him like he can knot Bucky with sheer force of will, like a little more pressure and his body will yield, give in and give up and swallow his knot.

“S-stop,” Bucky says, reaching back without thought, but it’s fur that his hand finds, so thick that his fingers sink deep into the coat. “Oh, oh god, oh, _fuck_.”

Steve’s huge. He dwarfed Bucky before, with his insane bulk, but this is—

Bucky can’t get his arm around him.

Steve rumbles again, whole body trembling with it, and he pulls out—and out and out, cock dragging along Bucky’s walls, a slick, feverish slide that doesn’t end. And then it does, and Bucky’s bracing for it before Steve even moves, clenching his hand in Steve’s fur and pushing his face into the mattress, but he screams anyway when Steve slams into him, throat throbbing raw as the sound’s torn out of him.

Steve does it again and again, and Bucky doesn’t stop screaming, doesn’t stop clawing at the sheets, at Steve, but it makes him weak, the knot tugging at his hole, edging its way inside of him with each, brutally single-minded thrust.

It pops past the rim in a rush of searing sensation, slotting into place inside of him, spreading him beyond anything he’s imagined.

Steve stills. Heat fills Bucky.

He runs out of air, his screams withering into a quiet whimper.

It’s so big, and he’s so _full_ , stretched to the limit and past every one of them. Steve comes and keeps coming, hips moving in hard, dirty grinds, knot tugging at Bucky’s hole and pushing against his nerves, and he doesn’t know why, doesn’t know how, but between a stabbing jolt that blurs pain into pleasure and the overwhelming warmth of Steve’s come filling him, Bucky comes, sudden and untouched, cock jerking between his body and the mattress.

He keens through the aftershocks, shuddering, clenching around Steve, each helpless spasm forcing him tight around Steve’s impossible length, his _knot._ His stomach feels weak and hot, and his whole body goes limp, melting into the sheets, Steve a live, pulsing blanket of heat over him.

Steve licks him, his long tongue slobbering all over Bucky’s throat and the side of his face, and it should be revolting but all Bucky feels is a perverse jolt in his gut. He’s got a werewolf knotted to him and an ass drenched in come, and there’s an animal part of his brain that just wants more, its need stoked by the sight of the torn sheets under Steve’s claws and the slick touch of his tongue and the way his fur’s pressed to Bucky’s skin. He’s too spent to be turned on again, vampire biology be damned, and if nothing else, Steve has proven that he can keep up with Bucky in bed and then some.

Steve whines, and as pitiful as the sound is, it trembles along his body and fills the room, making Bucky shudder and gasp under him.

This time, he’s all too aware of the shift—fur recedes, bones reform, and instead of an overly long snout, it’s a human face that settles into the space between his shoulder-blades.

The knot doesn’t deflate, and when Steve moves to accommodate his shift, his cock moves inside Bucky, yanking at his rim and prodding at sore muscles. He moans weakly, trying not to move, lying terribly still under Steve.

Finally, a very human body settles over him, Steve’s weight settling over Bucky. It would suffocate him if he were human. As he is, the heaviness is oddly pleasant. Bucky’s soul-mark throbs, and he can feel Steve’s own raised star against his back, pressed to his skin.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says quietly, carefully, shaping the words in the manner of a man who doesn’t quite have control over his voice and knows it. “I didn’t think I’d shift.”

He’s not lying, Bucky thinks. But it’s not quite the truth either.

“But you’re not surprised you did,” he concludes after a pause.

The silence that follows is telling.

“I’m going to tear out your throat, wolf.”

Steve has the audacity to laugh. It’s a quiet sound, low and tired. Whatever energy he has left is then promptly poured into his hips, which roll into Bucky, making his knot strain against the tight stretch of his hole. Bucky crews his eyes shut with a cry, red bursting under his lids.

“You won’t,” Steve says, softly confident. “No one else will fuck you like this.”

“What—what makes you think I want it?”

It’s not the most convincing counter, not when Bucky’s voice is rough and strained and it’s a fight to even get the words out instead of just lying there keening like a cat in heat.

Steve rolls his hips again, and Bucky does keen, swallowing the sound a second too late.

“S-stop that, stop it.”

Steve hums and nuzzles the back of Bucky’s neck, kissing him gently. Teeth graze the skin there, and it’s playful now but Bucky remembers the blood on them—remembers the blood in his mouth too. His veins are still warm with Steve’s life.

“You take a knot like you were born for it,” Steve says, and Bucky expects it to be a taunt but realizes, a moment later, that Steve’s voice is rich with something skin to awe.

“I—”

Bucky shuts his mouth without saying anything. He squirms halfheartedly; all it does is make him writhe on Steve’s knot and shudder with impotent heat. He wants to not like it, except no, not really, not even that.

Bucky’s lived for over five centuries, and he lost hope a long time ago, but he remembers he used to want to meet the one bearing the mirror of his red star.

“Made for me,” Steve says, sounding half-asleep now, body lax over Bucky’s, casually crushing him. “I was made for you too.”

“Fool.”

Steve makes a sound that might be agreement or something else entirely. Bucky’s distracted by the whisper-sweet kisses brushed over his shoulder, absent and strangely possessive for it.

The knot’s still plugging him up, pressing in on parts sore and spent.

“How much longer will this last?” he asks, elbowing Steve when there’s no immediate response.

“A while. Haven’t tied with anyone in a long time. S’good. You feel so good. Mm?”

That’s a question, there at the end. Bucky doesn’t respond. The truth would butcher his dignity. He can lie but finds that he’d rather not. Steve doesn’t push, nuzzling Bucky like he’s his favorite chew toy.

“The talks—” Bucky starts a moment later. He bites his lips at the thought of going back to the meeting. “My coven and your pack better not die because you can’t control your dick.”

“They’ll be fine,” Steve says, unconcerned with everything save a patch of skin on Bucky’s left shoulder. “They know what we are.”

The marks flared in front of everyone. Soulmates meeting is never subtle. Bucky is resolutely not thinking about it. Steve helps with that, gnawing at a patch of skin and licking over the fading marks, absently running his hands up and down Bucky’s skin, stroking his hair and scratching nails along his scalp.

It's not the worst thing in the world, being under this wolf.

**Author's Note:**

> Bonus: These beauties. I screamed when kocuria sent them to me ngl.  
> [](https://kocuria.tumblr.com/post/619103513349390336)  
> 
> 
> Let me know what you think!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [collab: voxofthevoid](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23361448) by [kocuria-visuals (kocuria)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kocuria/pseuds/kocuria-visuals)




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